


Misplaced Time

by TiredSmolPrince



Series: Vitus Mortis; Life of Death. [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Master of Death, MoD Harry, Slytherin Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-16 11:07:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11827479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiredSmolPrince/pseuds/TiredSmolPrince
Summary: Extras from this series





	1. Chapter 1

A young babe and a letter are left on the chilled steps of number 4 Privet Drive on an early November morning, the child is as still and silent as Death while the writing on the parchment declares him Harry James Potter. Somewhere else, in a towering bank with halls of glittering marble the Death of two young parents is recorded with their only living relatives; Petunia Dursley nee Evans, and Vitus Jormungadr Mortis. On a letter there is a name  ~~Vitus Jormungadr Mortis~~  Harry James Potter; on a Death certificate there is a list of living relatives Petunia Dursley nee Evans,  ~~Harry James Potter~~  Vitus Jormungadr Mortis.  

He lives yet he doesn’t, he exists yet not. 

The Death bell  _tolls_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a snippet of Gabriel's pov on meeting Vitus

Gabriel looks up when something that feels pure but tainted, a soft curling wind of death that makes the flowers curl towards its source; the sight of a small boy, barely even nine and yet. And yet. There is a feeling of Death that hovers over the boy, faint as it is but it seems to curl up around the child like a great big snake appearing to have its fangs sunk into the child’s forehead.

He stands tall and alert, and does not notice the way his power unravels slowly in curiosity that has always burned through him. Stardust drips down his back, a glimmering outline in the blood that soaks through him and a stark contrast to the iron and sacrifices that build up the vessel Gabriel inhabits. They step forward, ichor coloured wings stretching across the horizon; Gabriel crouches down in front of the child with a small smile.

“Heya there, little mage. You’ve been touched by my daughter, twice really.” They murmur, concern curling in the space that their vessel’s gut occupies. 

Gabriel blinks. A silver of a shard of a soul writhes where the scent of Death burrows into fair coloured skin, and the feeling of concern rolls through his being; a sickness creeps into him and before Gabriel thinks twice or even once about it an offer of sanctuary falls from the lips of their vessel.

The small mage of Death and Fire is thrilled and Gabriel can not help but smile and hope their other children like their newest sibling.


End file.
